


A pain in my Asgardian soul.

by skinnylittlered



Category: British Actor RPF, Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Erotica, Escort Service, Established Relationship, F/M, On Set, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnylittlered/pseuds/skinnylittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My god, he's in character."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A pain in my Asgardian soul.

It was with great difficulty that I managed to make (elbow, to be more precise) my way through the compact horde of fangirls crammed behind the iron fence delineating the set premises and, by the time I got to the security station to be permitted access, I was flustered and probably bruising in a couple of places. Still, flickering my pass, I got the all clear and a bulked, gruff employee to accompany me in my brisk walk to the trailer camp, no further complications ensuing. He saluted me mock army style as he was dismissed, my platforms clicking on the steps in front of the door. Although not having exchanged a single word with him, or most of the other workers, their knowing smirks were quite clear about their knowledge of the situation – word travels fast in small places like these, were people work in close collaboration weeks on end to grant materialisation to an idea.

And ‘Thor 3’ is without trace of doubt a _marvellous_ one.

However, the accuracy of said word has, as it generally does, proven itself to be disappointingly deficient, especially when my perpetually beaming expression is interpreted as inherent sweet nature rather than a well concealed attempt at subsiding laughter. Laughter spawned by their naïve regard of me as the object of the lead’s affections, which I am certainly not. The lack of any sort of emotional liaison between the two of us is what makes our arrangement work flawlessly and me considerable income to secure my sumptuous indulgences.

The room is dimensionally unsatisfying, to the point where it disrupts my breathing, but kept tidy, not an item set astray but for the clothes he presumably wore prior to donning his costume, the subtle cologne impregnated in the fabric supplying the empty air with pleasant undertones of the masculine fragrance. I sniff and simper, claustrophobia lost to familiarity, discarding the pieces of my apparel languorously, pruriently, putting on a show for myself as a warm up for the subsequent activities I am to engage in.

Timelier than expected, I conclude in the tight grip of the strong arms pulling me to the cold leather clad body of my momentary owner. The sharp yelp of alarm is hindered on its way out by the large palm forcing my jaws closed and my superior limbs effectively restrained. He yanks my head downward to his shoulder and I tremble at the coarse sound pouring in my ear.

“Ah, I see you’ve made yourself at home, human.”

_My god, he’s in character_. The information surges through me at light speed; it’s not Tom that I’m fucking today, but his diametrically opposed counterpart, and I can’t help the excretion of appeasement from every pore on my skin, as I have longed for this day ever since I laid my eyes on him the first time. The tip of his tongue slides from the bottom angle of my mandible to the hairline above my temple hoggishly, the long stroke of saliva instantaneously chilling. I can practically hear the deriding smile of propriety disseminating on his face. He’s marked me. Pushing aside the thought that he’s actually _licked_ my _face_ , I render myself unable and unwilling to halt the throaty moan his action elicited.

“Should you endeavour to find any pleasure in our current occupations, I advise that you fall silent. And motionless.”

My muscles go rigid with unwitting promptness and, in my paralytic state, my chest barely moves, shallowly pumping air in and out of my lungs. The release is inclement and cold and leaves my body hanging forlornly, but not without palatable trepidation at the prospect of more. His hands make contact with my prickled skin again, inquisitive although there’s nothing left for further discovery. He’s had my skin devoid of any garments so many a time up to now that he ought to have grown disinterested with it, notwithstanding the robustness that kindles such gratification to his sybaritical predispositions.

But then again, it is not only my Mediterranean looks and repletion of my womanly contours that he revels in, but also the manner in which I fuck and am fucked, the varied range of possibilities that I provide – the fact that I’m good at my job because, at the end of the day, it all comes down to customer service.

He explores for the longest while before finally undoing my bra, sliding the straps off my arms unhurriedly and letting it drop to the floor, exposing the brown stiffness of my mammillae.

“Oh, splendid,” once again twinning our bodies, his thumb is hovering just above the sensitive skin of my right nipple, while his left index teasingly twirls a loose curl on the back of my neck. “I am very well aware of your desire, but you see, my darling, I haven’t the slightest intent of fulfilling it.”

“Ugh!” I yell out in frustration, resting my closed fist on the desk in an overly aggressive way ( _punching_ is what I think it is called, but I’d like to believe myself to be a thoroughly non-violent person) repeatedly, interjecting nonsensically with an occasional Sodom reference in between.

“Anything the matter, love?” a very much real Tom leans over my shoulder, swiftly perusing the contents displayed on the screen of my laptop, chuckling knowingly. “Writer’s block, eh?”

“Right in the middle of a damn sex scene, I swear to god. I have it all in my head: dialogues, settings, everything, I can _see_ it, for fuck’s sake, but I can’t put it into words…”

“Hmm,” he inhales the citrusy scent of my hair, grinning. “I can help you with that.”

“I’m not in the mood for sex, Tom.”

“You might want to hear me out before rejecting my proposal, though,” his solemn frown and matter-of-fact words get me considering and I invite him to continue.

“It sometimes happens with professionals, too, you know. Even though it’s about the characters they have made up in their own minds, sometimes they get stuck. Sometimes things don’t exactly click. It’s worst when we’re filming, having to rethink an entire scene to have it right. So they call us, the actors, in and we brainstorm. We get in character and try out more variants until one fits perfectly with what the final product is supposed to look like.”

I stop for a second trying to process the input he’s given me and the possibilities that it entails. Considering my plans for this particular one shot, his offering is not merely a way of relieving myself of the inconvenient blockage, but also great sex which we haven’t had in an awfully long and slow paced while due to conflicting schedules and overall exhaustion.

“So what you’re suggesting is that we act out my fanfiction.”

His shrug is nonchalant, but the boyishly mischievous glimmer in his eyes tells me otherwise, “Well, yeah.”

“Tell me what to do.”

 

~*~

 

His pervasive groan hardens my tits, as he pushes inside my ass with a long, lingering stroke. I gasp wanting, but unable to steady myself by latching on to him, currently having my arms buckled together with his belt. So I just let myself – no other alternative, really – slump face first on the laminated surface of the nearby table, barren of sight and deliberate movement.

The incipient discomfort and his gritted cursing are telling in regards of the constriction of my hole, slightly sore and brimming to a limit. The Ben Wa balls in my cunt only emphasise the delicious fullness. We rock together back and forth, the purposefully languid sway of his hips tantalising, heightening the responsiveness of my nerve endings tenfold, forging seemingly remediless, insatiable frustration the vociferations of which I do nothing to forestall.

Well aware of my aversion towards pulling of the hair – however appealing the primal aspect of that might be, it is also profoundly damaging, and I shall and will not subject it to unneeded brutality just to please the man who has each and every orifice in my body at his immediate disposal – he grabs my neck, fingers pressing into it to the point where my gag reflex is affected, tugging me up straight as a balance point for him to hasten his dynamics.

“My lord,” strangulated whines erupting from my dry lips are attuned with the sound of his pelvis slapping across my behind, foreboding my upcoming release.

“I know,” the molten utterance is sympathetic and inviting at the same time, and it wreaks havoc on the little stamina I might have had. The fact that it’s whispered in my ear just his fingers finally descend to my breasts, stimulating the hypersensitive skin there is what triggers my unravelling. His own follows straightaway, with a final thrust and transient rigidity. He detaches and zips back up, exiting the trailer before I get to uncover my eyes and see him properly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *bows* thank you for reading.  
> Criticism is much appreciated.


End file.
